


To Sell Your Soul

by KathyG



Series: Angels at the End of Time [ON HOLD] [11]
Category: Touched by an Angel
Genre: Bible, End of the World, Gen, No Slash, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyG/pseuds/KathyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria do, if they found themselves during the end-times scenario prophesied in the Bible, prior to Jesus' Second Coming?  What kinds of assignments would they receive?  How would they handle their assignments?  This alternate-universe series is my attempt to answer that question, to surmise how the angels would handle the events of the Rapture and the Tribulation.</p><p>The first story in this ongoing series was written by Robin Day and myself.  The rest, I am writing on my own.</p><p>In story #11 of my end-times series, a pregnant young woman is fleeing from a boyfriend who is determined to force her to take the Mark of the Beast.  Can the angels save her from that fate, and get through to her boyfriend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The grayish-brown jalopy, spattered with dirt, roared down the rutted dirt road, stones sticking out of its surface. Clumps of trees lined both sides of the road, from horizon to horizon. The young, pregnant woman pressed the accelerator, gazing in terror at the cloudless Georgia sky overhead. 

“I’ve got to find a place to hide,” she said. “I’ve just _got_ to!” She wiped the beads of perspiration off her forehead. “So warm and sunny for this early in June,” she muttered. 

She was 26 years old, and formerly had been quite attractive. Her blonde hair hung down to her shoulders. She had an emaciated figure and a fair complexion that sunburned easily. As she sped down the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind her, her stomach protruded from the rest of her stick-thin body, and tears streaked her perspiring face. Her worn, tattered maternity blouse and blue jeans hung on her frame. 

A moment later, the car stalled. The engine’s roar died. After several minutes of trying vainly to turn the engine back on, the woman leaped out of the driver’s seat and kicked the tire. 

“No!” she moaned. “How am I going to get further away on foot?” She stared down at her oversized stomach, then wiped her sweaty face. “And who’s going to help me when I go into labor?” 

Desperation engulfed her soul. She could not go on much longer—she knew her ex-boyfriend was, in all likelihood, hot on her trail. Any time now, he might find Aileen; when he did, he would force her to go back with him to Atlanta and receive Antonio Puccini’s horrible implant. He would also compel her to worship the replica of Puccini’s image set up in Atlanta two months before. 

_I couldn’t afford food now, even if I agreed to the implant—which I won’t!_ she thought. _That stupid war in the Middle East has cut off all oil to us. Prices have become so high, only the rich can afford to eat._ She shook her head. _How could Russia do this to us all?!_

Moreover, she was almost nine months pregnant, so her time was almost up. In just a few days—perhaps sooner—she would to go into labor. She _had_ to find shelter and someone to help her, and fast! 

The now-familiar stomach ache made her double over in pain, clutching her abdomen. How long had it been since she had last had something to eat? Her stomach had felt empty for days. Whimpering, she knelt at the side of the engine, spreading her hand on her stick-thin legs. 

“Please, God,” she prayed, “help me!” She swallowed, as, pressing her blouse against her chest, she rubbed her hands over the ribs jutting through. “God, I don’t know who You are, although I’ve been told of You. But I beg You to help me. Please!” 

The now-familiar sense of thick oppression settled over her. “God will never listen to you,” a voice inside taunted. “He doesn’t love you, and He never will! You’re doomed. You missed the Rapture, and you’re doomed to Hell.” 

Shaking her head violently, the woman crawled away from the car into the thick grass lining the dirt road. Trees on both sides obscured her vision of the horizon. Choking back sobs, she curled up on her side and laid her face in her hands. 

Unknown to her, four angels stood on her other side, gazing down at her with sorrowful eyes. One of them—a slender, beautiful angel with long reddish-brown hair—clasped her hands in front of her waist. Pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes. “Aileen Adamson,” Monica said softly. She spoke with an Irish accent. 

Her supervisor, Tess, nodded. “Yes. She’s in a desperate situation, and she needs God’s intervention to save her.” She pursed her lower lip. “She’s in her 9th month of pregnancy, and on the verge of labor. She hasn’t had much food in a long time, and now she’s near starvation.” Sorrow tinged her voice as she folded her ebony arms across her ample chest. “Look at her big her eyes are, and how thin her arms and legs are.” 

Gloria sighed. “Millions of other people are in the same shape.” 

Andrew nodded agreement. “They certainly are,” he agreed. “The war in the Middle East has been in progress for three months now, ever since Russia began double-crossing its allies.” He shook his head. “The Russian prime minister is an interesting piece of work. He promises his Muslim allies he’ll help them destroy Israel, then he proceeds to invade them first. He’s been at it for quite a few weeks now." He sighed. "And in that time, I’ve had to take countless soldiers Home, as well as a number of civilians.” 

He shook his head again, then inserted his hands into his pants pockets. “The second and third seals have been broken in rapid succession. The fourth seal is on the verge of being broken even as I speak.” The other angels exchanged unhappy glances. They knew what he meant. 

The angel of death paused. “Ever since the war started, first double-digit, and then triple-digit inflation has set in and raised prices rapidly. Famine has spread all over the world as a result, and millions of people are starving. Just like Aileen.” He sighed. “Most can’t afford more than a loaf of bread—inflation has gotten so bad, it takes a whole day’s salary just to purchase a very meager amount of food. And it will be even worse for those who won’t take the implant—they won’t be allowed to buy or sell, or even hold a job. Already, their bank accounts have been frozen, and their debit cards rendered useless.” Deep sadness welled up in his expressive eyes. “It won’t be long, now, till millions of people will start dying of starvation and disease. And crime. People will literally kill one another for a bite of food.” 

“No, it won’t be long,” Tess agreed. “Right now, though, our assignment is this young woman.” She glanced at Aileen as she spoke. Dirt and grass stains had mussed her clothes. 

Gloria tilted her eyes as she fingered her glasses. “She just prayed a few minutes ago, yet I sense she’s convinced that God hasn’t heard her.” 

Tess inclined her head. Her ruby brooch glistened in the sunlight as she turned to face Gloria. “You’ve sensed correctly, baby. Aileen is indeed convinced of that. She prayed to God repeatedly during the early days following the Rapture, but the demons always taunted her, telling her that God had rejected her.” She paused. “As they’re doing now.” 

Monica looked from Tess to Gloria. “So, our job is to show her that God has _not_ rejected her.” 

“If we don’t, chances are her soul will be lost eternally. She’s at a crossroads, baby,” Tess explained. “Her boyfriend is determined to force her to accept Antonio Puccini’s implant and to worship his statue. He’s convinced it’s the only way to survive in today’s world. What he doesn’t know is that he will sell his soul if he does this.” A disapproving glare etched her face. “Or that Aileen will sell hers, if she gives into his demands.” 

The supervisor angel shook her head. “Aileen is not a believer, but she knows in her spirit that taking that implant would be a fatal mistake—that’s why she’s on the run.” She looked from angel to angel. “The trouble is, unless she gives her life to God, she will not be able to resist Dylan when he finds her. She will try, but he will be stronger than she is.” 

She turned to Monica. “You know our instructions, Miss Wings.” She wagged her index finger. “Just don’t take a lot of time deciding what the house is to look like—all that matters is that it’s large and comfortable.” She paused. “And that we have a place to hide Aileen when her boyfriend comes.” 

“And food,” Andrew reminded her. “Aileen will need nourishment when you and Monica take her in.” 

“We will also need medical supplies,” Gloria added. “And maternity clothes for Aileen. The ones she’s wearing now are dirty and almost worn out.” 

“Yes,” Tess agreed. She turned to Andrew. “You’re on standby, Mr. Halo, until you’re needed.” Nodding acquiescence, Andrew folded his arms across his chest and turned his gaze toward Aileen. 

Monica swiveled to face the hill behind them. She trotted 30 feet up the road till she found a spot where the ground was smooth, and fixed her eyes on the incline. Within seconds, a two-story white Victorian house with pillars and a porch spanning the front appeared; an ornate metal fence spread alongside the road, enclosing the front yard. Tess smiled approvingly at her. Unaware of their presence, Aileen broke out into convulsive sobs.


	2. Chapter 1

“Hello?” A soft Irish voice startled Aileen. Raising her head, she wiped her face and pulled herself into a kneeling position. 

Dirt crusted her hands, she noticed. _I probably wiped dirt on my face, instead of wiping it off,_ she thought, with a grimace. 

A beautiful, slender woman with long reddish-brown hair knelt at her side. Caring and compassion radiated in her eyes, Aileen noticed; beads of sweat rolled down the strange woman’s cheeks. “Your car has broken down?” the woman asked, gently. Aileen nodded, snuffling. 

“My name is Aileen Adamson, and I’m stranded,” she choked. “I—I am…” Her voice died out, as she glanced down at her stomach. 

“You are near birth,” the woman finished. Aileen nodded, rubbing her lower arm. “Don’t despair. You can stay with my friends and me.” She helped Aileen to her feet. “I’m Monica,” she added. 

Aileen smiled wanly. “You’re very kind to help a strange woman,” she said. “So many people aren’t willing to help other people anymore. Especially since…” She bit her lower lip. 

“Ever since Antonio Puccini made taking his implant mandatory,” Monica finished. “An chip with a number beginning with the prefix of 666. You’ve been running for your life, haven’t you?” She squeezed Aileen’s shoulder as the pregnant woman stiffened. “I’m not going to turn you in, Aileen. I just want to know if that is what’s happening.” 

Aileen nodded. “Yes. I am.” She sighed. “Food has become so expensive, anyway, I can hardly afford it. I couldn’t buy it even if I had the implant. And I sure can’t, without it!” 

Monica slid her hand behind Aileen’s back. “Come with me. My friend, Tess, and I will take care of you. We have an abundance of food, and clothes, too.” 

“Thank you.” Aileen’s smile trembled. “You are—so kind.” 

Without another word, Aileen accompanied Monica up the road, through the gate, and up the sidewalk toward the spacious porch. Her shoes clicked on the concrete sidewalk as she ascended the steps and approached the front door. In the air-conditioned foyer, Tess greeted them. 

“You look as if you’ve had nothing to eat for days,” she said. “I just happen to have a pot of soup on the stove. I’ll give you some now.” 

Aileen smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” She laid her hand on her stomach. “My baby desperately needs nourishment, even more than I do.” 

“Yes, it does,” Tess agreed. “Come with me, and I’ll feed you.” She led the way down the hall, then into the kitchen, her shoes clicking on the gleaming marble floor. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” 

“All I can get, anymore, are leftover scraps in trash cans.” Aileen slumped against the kitchen table, rubbing her lower arm. “Plus any fruit I can find in the woods. It’s gotten so bad since the war started and that stupid implant was made law.” 

“I know.” Tess turned the stove on. “Food has become scarce all over the world, and millions are nearing starvation. Sickness has become rampant. And crime is on the increase.” She pursed her lips with evident displeasure, then picked up a wooden spoon. “And being denied the right to buy or sell unless you have the chip injected has made the situation truly desperate, I know.” 

Aileen hung her head. What Tess had just said was so true. She watched her hostess stir the contents of a saucepan. A moment later, a wan smile spread across her face. The breeze emanating from the air-conditioner felt so good on her dusty, sweaty face! 

“I’ll run you some bath water after you’ve eaten,” Tess told her. “And get you some clothes. We just happen to have some very nice maternity clothes in one of our closets. I believe some of them will fit you nicely.” 

Aileen nodded. “Thank you.” 

Minutes later, as Aileen perched at the dining table wolfing down a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and taking gulps of ice-cold milk, Tess and Monica huddled in the corner for a hasty conference. Aileen took no notice of them; she sat with her back toward the two angels. 

“Angel Girl, I’m afraid Aileen has good reason to be afraid,” Tess whispered. “Even as we speak, her boyfriend, Dylan, is on his way with a policeman to look for her. They’re driving down the same road she came on. They won’t arrive here just yet, but they will before long.” 

Monica’s breath caught. “Oh, Tess! We left her car just 30 feet down the road. If they find that—!” 

“No, they won’t.” Andrew appeared, visible to the other angels but invisible and inaudible to Aileen. He had on a navy-blue T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. “I took the liberty of moving her car off the road. It’s safe in the garage now.” 

Tess nodded. “Good.” With a smile, Andrew disappeared. 

Tess fixed her gaze on Monica. “As soon as she finishes eating and takes her bath, Miss Wings, we’d better hide her,” she ordered. “When her boyfriend gets here, he’ll come to this house first thing.” 

Unable to hear what they were saying, Aileen thought about Dylan McGuire and the dates they’d gone on before the bad times came. Happier days drifted into her mind…the days when she and Dylan used to go to the movies, after which they would go to a fine restaurant to order lobster or steak…the candlelight dinners they held in each other’s apartments…the weekends they’d gone to Charleston or Myrtle Beach in South Carolina, where they’d spent a great deal of time swimming and sightseeing. All of their times together had been such fun, and Aileen had so looked forward to marrying him. Why had Dylan decided to spoil it all? Resting her elbow on the table’s smooth surface, she sighed. 

_I hope he won’t find me,_ she thought. _If he does, I’m in real trouble!_

Tess left the room. Monica refilled Aileen’s bowl and set it before her. She then poured herself a cup of coffee, set it on a gleaming white china saucer, then sat down next to Aileen. 

“Tess is a good cook,” she said. Aileen smiled agreement, but did not speak; her mouth was full. As she chewed and swallowed, she reached for a paper napkin. Monica took a sip of her steaming coffee. The cup clinked on the saucer as she set it down. 

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you, for taking me in,” Aileen finally said. “I was close to starving, and my baby is just about due. I couldn’t have gone on much longer.” 

Monica reached across the corner of the table to touch Aileen’s arm. “We are glad to do what we can to help.” She smiled comfortingly, then furrowed her eyebrows. “Who is after you?” 

“My boyfriend.” Aileen sighed. “Or, rather, my ex-boyfriend—we were going to be married, but he changed his mind just a few months ago. My baby needs a daddy, you see. He’s the father.” She patted her stomach, then looked Monica in the eyes. “His name’s Dylan McGuire, and we’ve known each other since we were in high school. He used to be in construction until he hurt his shoulder on the job over a year ago; now he sits in a office and does paperwork.” 

Sadness welled up in her eyes; she rested her face in her right hand. “That’s not what upsets me, though—it’s this new law.” She shook her head even as it rested in the palm of her hand. “Everyone who wants to keep their job must get that implant and worship Antonio Puccini’s statue, and Dylan is bound and determined that we should do just that. All bank accounts have been frozen. We’ve all been ordered to turn in our debit cards and use the chip instead, if we want to buy and sell again.” Monica inclined her head. 

Aileen took a deep breath. “I know I must not get it—I know it would be a bad mistake. But Dylan doesn’t think so. He’s convinced we must obey the world government if we want to stay alive.” She shook her head. “He threatened to turn me in if I wouldn’t comply. I knew I would face the guillotine if he carried out his threat. So I quit my job and ran for my life. I’ve been running for over two months now.” 

Monica patted Aileen’s hand. “You did the right thing,” she said gently. “And don’t be frightened. We will do all we can to take care of you and protect you. And we will pray that God will soften Dylan’s heart.” 

Aileen grimaced. “I don’t know if even God can soften Dylan. He certainly hasn’t listened to me.” She sighed “But thanks. It couldn’t hurt.” 

With a tender, compassionate smile, Monica rose to her feet, picked up her coffee cup and saucer, and took them to the sink. Turning her attention back to her soup, Aileen picked up her stainless-steel spoon and dipped it into the hearty, savory soup. 

_Please, God, help me. Don’t turn me away. Please hear my prayers!_


	3. Chapter 2

Dylan McGuire drove down that dirt road in his navy-blue Chevy. A uniformed policeman, Officer Jesse Whitman, sat in the passenger seat, hands in his lap, holstered revolver dangling from his waist. A tiny tattooed number spanned the middle of his forehead, beginning with 666. 

Dylan had turned 30 years of age a month before the new law went into effect. Tall and muscular, he had light-brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin, with a cleft in his chin. The policeman was 10 years older than Dylan. Like Dylan, he had a muscular frame; short black hair hung down on his narrow olive face. A hard glint gleamed in his eyes. The air-conditioning hummed softly; its cool air caressed Dylan’s own face with its square jaw. 

“We’ll find her, Dylan,” the policeman assured him. “And when we do, she’ll either take the implant—or she’ll die.” He set his jaw as he spoke. 

Dylan bit his lower lip as he nodded. He hoped it would not come to that—he had _no_ desire to watch Aileen’s execution! He was bound and determined to force her to receive that implant, so they could get married. If she would only obey the world government’s orders, all her problems would be solved—and his, as well. She’d be able to feed their baby, and neither she nor the baby would be killed. And Dylan would be handsomely rewarded by Puccini’s government for bringing in another convert—Dylan was sure of it. 

_I can’t marry her unless she does,_ he thought. _She’s going to have to take that implant before we marry. I told her that._ He sighed. _Why does she have to be so stubborn?! I don’t have long to find her, now, before my boss will report_ me _to the authorities! I must find her and take her back before that deadline comes._

Irritation surged in his heart; he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His fingers dug into its leather cover. _I may lose my job_ and _my life, because of Aileen!_

Suddenly, the tracks they’d been following for the past several miles swerved to the edge of the road, then stopped. Slamming his foot on the brake, Dylan turned off the ignition and hopped out of the driver’s seat. The policeman joined him. 

“The tracks stop right here, Officer Whitman,” Dylan said, frowning. A now-familiar pain shot through his left shoulder; he bent his arm backward in an effort to relieve it, then reached toward it with his right hand to rub the aching shoulder. 

Jesse grimaced. “She must be hiding somewhere in this vicinity. She can’t get far, pregnant and hungry as she is.” He rubbed his fingers over his revolver as he spoke. His badge shone in the sunlight. 

“No, she can’t.” Dylan scanned both sides of the road. Towering trees lined it all the way. “Surely, she’s not going to try to sleep on the bare ground. She’s too near her time to be able to do that. Trouble is, this is a heavily wooded area—she won’t be easy to find.” 

He glanced down at his watch. The date and year appeared in a little rectangular window in the lower corner of the watch face. He was so glad to have a watch that told him the date and year—since embarking on the search for Aileen, he’d had little access to calendars. 

_I have exactly one more week to find Aileen and bring her back,_ he thought. _If I don’t, my boss will turn me in. I’m glad Officer Whitman has volunteered to help me find her!_

Jesse’s voice broke into Dylan’s thoughts. “I agree. And I also agree that the search will be difficult.” Jesse stared straight ahead. “However, if she can find shelter, she will take it. I’m sure of that. There might be a house somewhere on this road.” 

He turned to Dylan. “You know, of course, that once we find her, you’re going to have to take the implant, too?” 

Dylan chuckled. “How could I forget?” He rolled his eyes, then sighed. “My boss made it quite plain to all of us that if we wanted to keep our jobs, we’d have to receive that chip. Most of my co-workers have since done so. Fortunately, the manager’s willing to let me wait till I find and bring back Aileen. Provided I return by the deadline, that is.” 

He bit his lower lip. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, he noticed; he reached upward to wipe them off. “I want to marry her, Jesse, but she’s got to accept the implant first.” 

“ _And_ worship Puccini’s statue,” Jesse reminded him. “That’s the second thing she’s got to do, and you, too.” 

Dylan nodded acquiescence. He gazed at the sky. _No clouds,_ he thought. _Too bad—we need something to cool things off. It’s so hot!_

Jesse pivoted to look up and down the road. “You go up that way, and I’ll go this way. If we have to go into the woods to look for her, I’ll call for backup.” 

Dylan acquiesced again. “I’ll keep you posted.” 

Jesse marched into the woods. Dylan pulled his soft cotton sling out of the back seat and stuffed it into his pants pockets. He never knew when he was going to need it again—his shoulder acted up so frequently. He yanked a pair of binoculars out of the back seat and draped their soft leather handle from his wrist. Then he trotted up the road.


	4. Chapter 3

Dylan marched up the incline toward the crest of the hill, scanning from side to side. His shoes made soft imprints on the dirt road. “Aileen! Where are you?” he muttered. 

Holding his binoculars to his face, he zoomed in on the woods surrounding him. Not a sight of Aileen or any other human. 

At last, he paused, dropping his binoculars to his side. A wrought-iron fence caught his eye. Looking past the fence, he saw a tall, two-story Victorian house towering against the clump of trees behind it, 20 feet from the gate. Apparently, it had been freshly whitewashed—it glistened white in the sun. 

Pushing the gate open, Dylan strode into the yard. No doubt, his girlfriend was hiding in that house. She was in no shape to travel any further, he knew—not on foot. 

Gritting his teeth, Dylan clumped up the steps onto the porch and pounded on the front door. When nobody answered, he shoved it open and strode into the foyer. His shoes clomped on the marble floor as he entered the spacious hall. 

“Aileen!” he shouted. “Aileen, I know you’re here! Answer me!” 

As the leather handle slipped off his wrist, the binoculars clattered onto the marble floor. He glanced down at them, then waved his hand in dismissal. He could do without the binoculars for now. 

Unknown to him, Aileen had finished her bath upstairs, and Tess and Monica had just escorted her into a small inner room on the second floor. It contained a queen-sized bed, a varnished mahogany dresser, and a matching nightstand next to the bed. A small table lamp stood on the nightstand. Aileen had wrapped a terry-cloth robe around her body, since her own clothes were dirty and tattered. 

“Stay here,” Tess told her, as she drew some maternity clothes out of the closet and handed them to Aileen. “Your boyfriend will come here looking for you, if he hasn’t already done so.” 

Aileen laid the clothes on the bed. They looked clean and fresh. “Don’t leave me too long. I don’t know when labor is going to start.” 

She slumped onto the bed. The mattress sagged underneath her weight. She pressed her fingertips against the soft bedspread. The hunger ache had vanished, much to Aileen’s relief, along with the empty sensation her abdomen had endured for so long. 

“Don’t worry.” Tess patted her shoulder. “We are prepared for that.” She paused, furrowing her eyebrows. “Why does Dylan want to find you?” 

Aileen took a deep breath. “Monica didn’t tell you?” Tess shook her head. “He—he wants to force me to take that new implant. To have that horrid chip injected into my skin. And worship Antonio Puccini’s statue.” She shook her head. “I can’t, and I won’t!” 

Monica winced. “We will protect you, so you won’t have to.” 

“Thanks.” Aileen smiled wanly. “He didn’t use to be this way. He was going to marry me, once I told him I was pregnant. Then, just a few months ago—right after that implant law went into effect—he told me he would only do so if I would get that stupid chip. He was going to force me to do it, I know, so I ran.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t let him do that to me. I loved him, and I still do, but I will never agree to that, and I told him so. I had to get away. He’s been after me ever since. He’ll turn me over to the authorities if he has to—and he _will_ have to!” She shuddered. 

“Well, his chase ends here,” Tess assured her. “As Monica promised, we will not let him force you to do that.” 

Monica nodded agreement. “Just pray,” she urged Aileen. “Pray to God.” 

Aileen moaned. “I’ve been doing that, but He ignores me.” 

Tess bent over her. “Baby, God ignores no one who truly seeks Him. If you’re doing that, He is hearing you.” She touched Aileen’s shoulder. “Just keep seeking God’s face, Aileen. He will do the rest.” 

She tiptoed out, followed by Monica. The door clicked shut behind them. Rising to her feet, Aileen changed clothes, then fell backwards onto the bed. “Please, God,” she begged, “hear my prayer! Please don’t leave me in Puccini’s clutches.” 

She sighed. It felt so good to be clean, and to wear clean clothes once more. The silky-soft bedspread covering the thick pillows felt so soft and smooth under her head. Now, if only she could get rid of the knot of fear that had bound her for so many days! 

Meanwhile, back on the first floor, Dylan marched from room to room, shouting Aileen’s name. As he paused to catch his breath, a smoky alto voice said, “May I help you?” 

Dylan whirled around; Tess’ ample body framed the doorway. “Well—uh, yeah,” he said slowly. “I’m looking for my girlfriend. She’s due to go into labor any day now. I know she’s here, and I’ve come to get her.” He tried to look behind Tess. “Where is she?” 

Tess crossed her arms. “She is here, yes, but she is in no condition to travel anywhere. As you said, she is near her time. She will go into labor very soon, in fact, so this is not the time to take her away.” 

Dylan clenched his fists as rage engulfed him. How dare this woman interfere?! “I said I had come to get her, and I am going to take her back,” he said, his voice turning sharp. “Take me to her!”


	5. Chapter 4

Facing Dylan, Tess silently prayed, _Father, give me patience with this man!_ She had _no_ intention of letting Aileen’s boyfriend force her into committing the unpardonable sin! Irritation surged in her as Dylan stepped toward her and repeated his demands. His shoes made imprints in the thick carpet spreading from wall to wall, flattening the tufts beneath. 

“What is your name?” she asked, her voice stern. She put her hands on her hips. 

“Dylan. Dylan McGuire.” Folding his arms across his chest, the man glared at her. 

“Well, Mr. McGuire, you are _not_ going to take her anywhere! She is in no condition to travel, and won’t be for a while.” Tess pointed in the direction of the front door. “Now I want you to leave this house! Now!” 

Ignoring her, Dylan shoved her aside as he hurried down the hall and up a flight of stairs. Tess hurried after him, silently praying for intervention. She and Monica had made a promise to Aileen—God would have to help them keep it. 

Meanwhile, back in the upstairs inner room, Aileen lay on her side, reminiscing. Her old clothes lay draped over a cushioned leather armchair. She rubbed her fingers over the smooth blouse, buttoned down her front. It felt so comfortable! _And so clean,_ she thought. 

Aileen’s mind wandered back to the early days of her romance with Dylan. Until Dylan had started insisting that the two of them have that chip injected, they had been very happy together. He had been willing—eager, even—to marry her once he’d learned that she was pregnant with his child. Then the dread day had come when he had told her he would marry her on one condition: that she agree to receive Puccini’s implant and worship his statue. Even though she was not a believer, she felt in her bones that to do so would be a disastrous mistake. Rather than be turned in to the authorities, she had run for her life. 

“I can only hope his bad shoulder will keep him from getting too rough when he finds me,” she whispered. 

Intense discomfort welled up in her stomach. Panic brought a sensation of nausea to her throat as her stomach tightened. Was this the beginning of labor? What if the labor started and there was no one to act as midwife? She couldn’t bear the thought. 

“My labor could start any time, and there’s no one to deliver my baby,” she muttered, tightening her fingers over her stomach. “I’ve got to find Tess and Monica! I’m going to need a doctor or a midwife when labor begins.” She winced as a sharp stab of pain tightened her stomach. “First, though, I need to find a bathroom.” 

Slowly, Aileen raised her legs and shifted them over the edge of the bed. She rose to her feet; still clutching her stomach, she shuffled toward the door and swung it open. Slowly, she padded down the hall. Her slippers-encased feet made no sound on the marble floor. The clicks of shoes growing louder heralded someone’s approach from around the corner up ahead. No doubt, Tess or Monica was returning. She would wait for them at that spot. She halted. 

To her horror, a familiar figure froze at the corner ahead of her. Dylan! His face beet-red, he darted toward her and grabbed her arm, digging in his fingers till they hurt. 

“Ow!” she gasped. Tears of pain welled in her eyes. 

“I’m not going to have this, Aileen!” he barked. “We’re both going to take that implant, and we’re going to do it now!” He banged his left fist against the wall, then grabbed her other arm. 

“Let me go, Dylan!” she begged. “Please don’t force me to take that implant! Please, I beg you—let me go!” 

“Dylan McGuire!” Tess’ harsh voice startled them both. “Let Aileen go! Now!” 

Tess marched toward them and grabbed Dylan by the arm. “Dylan, if you don’t stop manhandling Aileen, I’m going to throw you out now!” 

Before Dylan could shove Tess out of the way and drag Aileen down the hall, agony etched his face. Pursing his lips, face sullen, Dylan dropped his arms to his sides, then reached upward to rub his left shoulder. Still glaring at him, Tess wagged her finger. 

“You were very rude, to barge into our home without knocking and start manhandling your girlfriend. As long as you are here, you will behave like a gentleman!” She paused, staring him in the eyes. “Is that clear?!” 

Taking a deep breath, Dylan clenched his fists. “Very clear.” He shook his head, then winced in evident pain. “Well—you certainly are very stern.” 

“Yes, and I can be even more stern!” A policeman stepped around the corner and whipped his revolver out of the holster. He pointed it at Aileen, whose face turned pale with terror.


	6. Chapter 5

“Officer Whitman!” Dylan gasped. “Uh, meet my girlfriend—uh, fiancee, Aileen Adamson.” Wincing, he bent his left elbow back. 

Jesse nodded. The sunlight pouring through the hall window next to him formed a rectangle of reflected light on the gleaming marble floor. “Miss Adamson, you have two choices!” he told her. “Come with us and take the implant—or die right here!” 

Monica and Tess exchanged horrified glances. Both had seen the tiny tattoo on the officer’s forehead. Monica, for her part, was sickened by the sight of that tattoo, and she knew that Tess was, too. She knew that Jesse Whitman was beyond help, past all hope of salvation. And clearly, he was bound and determined to force Aileen and Dylan to get into the same spiritual shape. All she could do, now, was pray. 

The angel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Please, Father,” she whispered, “intervene and save Aileen. And Dylan.” 

As a white-faced Aileen gaped at the policeman, she suddenly bent over, agony etched on her face. Dylan rushed toward her and put his right arm around her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

Aileen nodded. “I think—it’s starting,” she said. “I’m going to—have the baby, Dylan.” 

Tess nodded. “Monica, you take Aileen back to her room. I’ll send for the doctor.” She turned to Jesse, a severe expression etched on her ebony face. “Officer, you will not be taking Aileen to an implant center today or in the near future.” She wagged her finger. “She’s in labor, and she is going to have a baby by tomorrow.” 

Sliding his revolver back into the leather holster, Jesse glared at her. “She will go to the implant center as soon as she has recovered from birth, then. I will personally see to it.” He disappeared around the corner. 

Gloria appeared next to Tess. “It’s time?” she asked, quietly. 

Tess nodded. “Yes, baby. It is. You will deliver the baby, and Monica will help you.” 

Gloria slowly approached the corner, where she took a long look at the policeman leaning against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. He couldn’t see her, she knew—at the moment, she was invisible to human eyes. She took a long look at his crisp blue uniform and the badge glistening in the sunlight, then shook her head. It was incomprehensible to her that a uniformed policeman, whose job was to uphold justice, would be oppressing innocent people like this. Furrowing her eyebrows, she turned to Tess. 

“Shouldn’t we be giving God’s message to him as well?” she asked. “As well as to Dylan and Aileen?” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

Tess shook her head, deep sorrow in her eyes. “No, baby. He has heard God’s message—and rejected it. God has no message left to give Jesse Whitman. All Jesse has to look forward to, now, is God’s wrath.” 

Tilting her head, Gloria stared at her. “Why?” she asked. “God loves him, too, doesn’t He?” 

Andrew appeared on Gloria’s other side. “Gloria, see that tiny black tattoo on his forehead?” he asked. Taking a long look at Jesse’s face, Gloria nodded. “He’s taken the implant,” the angel of death explained. “And he’s worshipped Antonio Puccini’s statue. No one threatened him or tried to force him—he did it of his own free will.” 

Deep pain welled up in Andrew’s expressive eyes. He folded his arms across his chest. “He’s beyond hope, Gloria. There can be no salvation for Jesse Whitman now. There will be no salvation even for those who are threatened into taking the chip.” 

Gloria winced. “When did he take it?” 

“He had it injected into his forehead right after the mark of the beast became mandatory, a few months ago,” Tess said, a mixture of sorrow and severity in her voice. “He did not act in ignorance, either. God sent a couple of believers and then an angel to him, to warn him. He did it anyway.” She shook her head. “He had the believers executed, as well. For daring to defy Antonio Puccini.” 

Andrew nodded agreement. “I remember. Adam and I took the believers to Heaven.” He turned back to Gloria. “The only thing we can do, now, is prevent him from forcing Dylan and Aileen to sell their souls to the devil, as he has done. We must give them God’s message.” He removed his pocket watch from his pants pocket and glanced at the time. The tip of his thumb rested on the watch’s smooth glass face. 

Tess looked at Gloria. “You’d better go now,” she ordered. “A patient is waiting for you.” Acquiescing, Gloria disappeared. 

Back in the inner bedroom, Aileen lay on her back, clutching her stomach and attempting to stifle her moans. The bedspread had become rumpled as Aileen had thrashed on it. The overhead light shed a harsh glare throughout the room. Perched on the edge of the bed, Monica rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder, speaking soothingly to her. The mattress sagged under Monica’s weight as she shifted position. 

“It’s all right, Aileen,” she said. “A doctor will be here shortly. Tess has just sent for her.” Her smile broadened. “And soon, you’re going to hold a wee baby in your arms!” 

“That—policeman—is going to force me to—take that implant!” Aileen whimpered. “My baby, too!” 

The door swung open; Gloria entered, wearing a white coat and a stethoscope. Monica rose to her feet to give her room. “No, he won’t,” Gloria told the young woman. “We won’t let him, Aileen.” The door clicked shut behind her. She smiled down at the distraught woman. “How are you feeling?” 

Relaxing, Aileen smiled wanly. “It’s stopped, for the moment.” She bit her lower lip. “But what am I going to do?” 

“Just pray to God.” A Heavenly light suddenly poured off Monica. 

Aileen’s eyes widened as she gaped up at the midwife. “What—what is this?” 

“I am an angel,” Monica told her. “Sent by God. So are Tess and Gloria, here.” She nodded toward Gloria, who inclined her head in agreement. Aileen looked from one angel to the other, her face etched in shock.


	7. Chapter 6

Monica knew that the moment had come. She couldn’t bear the thought of Aileen going to Hell within the next three years or less. She was determined to break through the wall of taunts the demons had erected around Aileen, to prevent her from making contact with God. The Irish-tongued angel bent over Aileen’s perspiring face, cradling the young woman’s hand in her own. The angel’s pearl earrings swung back and forth as she did so. 

“Aileen, God has sent us in answer to your prayers,” Monica explained. “He wants you to know that He loves you. And He has sent angels to show you how much He does.” 

Aileen bit her lower lip. “Every time I’ve prayed—I’ve felt cut off," she said, slowly. 

Gloria nodded. “Demons have been very active since God took His Church to Heaven over three-and-a-half years ago,” she told Aileen. “They’ve taunted you whenever you’ve tried to pray. They’ve kept telling you that God doesn’t love you and that He’s rejected you." 

Pausing, she fingered the frame of her glasses, then clasped her hands in front of her waist. “God has sent us to tell you that’s not true. He loves you, and He’s eagerly looking forward to seeing you become His child.” 

“Gloria’s right.” Monica wiped Aileen’s face with a soft cotton handkerchief. “Aileen, God does love you. And He wants you to live in His love, starting today. You will seek and find Him when you seek Him with all your heart.” Her voice grew urgent. “He sent His Son, Jesus, to show you the depths of that love, by dying on a cross so you would not have to die in your sins. Your fears of the implant are well-founded, Aileen—the chip is the Mark of the Beast. Those who take it can never be with God. They will be eternally lost.” 

Sadness etched Monica’s face as she spoke. Aileen shuddered. 

The Irish-tongued angel paused to exchange glances with Gloria. “You’ve been seeking Him, Aileen—now God wants to receive you as His own child. He has sent us to give you that message. Accept Him now. Right now. You know how—you’ve been told before.” 

Aileen nodded, then clasped her trembling hands together. “Please, Jesus—forgive me. And save my soul,” she prayed. “I want to know You and live with You. Please save my soul!” 

A peaceful smile spread across her face; her hands relaxed. Monica and Gloria beamed. “The angels in Heaven are rejoicing right now, Aileen. And so are we.” Monica hugged her. 

Aileen smiled back, then furrowed her eyebrows in evident bewilderment. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are demons being so active? Why is God letting them be active?” 

“Because God wants to get the world’s attention.” Andrew appeared next to Monica. He wore a brown shirt and a darker brown pair of pants. “This is the Tribulation, and God is allowing it, to force the world to decide whether to accept Him or reject Him. The time has come to make a decision one way or the other—He doesn’t want anyone putting that decision off any longer. He’s very pleased that you’ve decided to accept Him, Aileen.” 

He smiled at her, then leaned against the pastel-blue wall in a relaxed stance. “In a little over three years, He’s going to send His Son, Jesus, back to earth to rule it. His kingdom will last for a thousand years, then eternity will start. Only those who have made the decision to receive Him can enter that kingdom—all others will be condemned to Hell. You will be a part of His kingdom, Aileen. And so will Dylan, if he chooses to accept Jesus as well.” 

Aileen smiled wanly. “Are you an angel, too?” 

Andrew inclined his head. “Yes. I’m an angel of death. My name is Andrew.” He raised his hand reassuringly. “It’s not your time yet to die, Aileen, so don’t be afraid. I’m just here on standby.” 

Aileen bit her lower lip. “You—you have the most—gentle eyes I’ve ever seen,” she told the angel of death. Andrew chuckled, then vanished. 

Aileen’s face turned red as she clutched her stomach. A tortured gasp emitted from her throat. “My—my baby is—!” 

“Don’t worry.” Monica wiped her face again. “We will be right here with you until your wee one is in your arms. Gloria is very efficient, and she will know just how to help you.” She patted the woman’s shoulder. 

The two angels turned their full attention to monitoring Aileen’s labor. After Gloria listened to Aileen’s heartbeat through her stethoscope, she glanced down at her watch, glistening in the light of the overhead ceiling bulbs. The time had come to time Aileen’s labor pains. Hours passed as the pains came and went, becoming more intense and closer together. 

Downstairs, that night, Andrew found Dylan leaning against the window in the living room, gazing at the glittering stars dotting the sky over the thick clusters of trees. The lamps shed a soft light over the room; the overhead light had been turned off. Jesse had left, the angel of death noticed. “Where is Officer Whitman?” he asked. 

Straightening his back, Dylan turned to face Andrew, a somber expression etching his face. A weary sigh exhaled from his mouth. “He went to the kitchen to get himself something to eat.” He grimaced, then shook his head. “ _He_ can get something to eat whenever he wants—he’s got the implant. He can buy and sell. His bank account hasn’t been frozen as mine has. And Aileen’s.” He pursed his lower lip. “Everyone else is going hungry. Our debit cards are no good to us anymore.” 

Andrew nodded, sadness in his eyes. “I know. When the world went to a cashless system a few years ago, what is happening now was inevitable.” He slowly approached Dylan, thrusting his hands into his pants pockets. “What’s happening to the world was predicted in the Bible, Dylan. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” 

Dylan pursed his lips, then backed up till he stood next to the plastered wall. “And I’m supposed to help raise a baby in this world!” he spat. “I don’t like it, Andrew. I don’t!” He banged his fist against the wall, then shook his head. “If only Aileen would come to her senses—” 

“Dylan. Aileen _is_ in her right mind.” A grave expression etched Andrew’s own face as he looked Dylan in the eyes. The time had come, he knew, to deliver God’s message. “She knows, in her spirit, that receiving that implant or worshipping that statue would be a fatal, catastrophic mistake.” 

“What do you mean?!” Dylan retorted. “Not accepting it is the mistake! Those who refuse aren’t just going to starve—they’re going to be executed! Quite a few already have been! Aileen will be next, if she doesn’t do as she’s been told!” 

Andrew stood motionless. “You are aware, aren’t you, that those who receive that implant are expected to worship Puccini as a god? And to reject all loyalty to all other gods?” 

Dylan waved his hand in dismissal. “What can that hurt, Andrew? If any man deserves that, it’s Antonio Puccini. For three-and-a-half years, he brought peace and prosperity to the whole world.” 

Leaning against the wall, Andrew shook his head. “Dylan, there is not a man on earth who is worthy of worship. Or who can handle it.” He paused. “Only God—the true God—can handle being worshipped. Only He is worthy of it.” 

Clenching his fists, Dylan glared at him. “Antonio Puccini says _he_ is God!” He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes looking fierce. 

An amused smile spread across the angel of death’s face. “Then why have war and runaway inflation and famine broken out, Dylan? _And_ despite Puccini’s continued efforts to keep peace?” Andrew put a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Antonio Puccini is _not_ God.” He gazed into the man’s eyes. “He is just a man who has been indwelt by Satan himself. Who has worshipped Satan for many years now, even before the devil took possession of him. Satan is totally evil—all he wants is to destroy you and every other human, and to receive the worship that only God is entitled to. Satan wants to be worshipped as God, and to steal your soul in the process. He has indwelt Antonio Puccini to achieve that end.” 

The angel paused. As he stood peering into Dylan’s eyes, the air-conditioner hummed softly in the background. “If you accept his implant and worship his image, you may survive a few more years, but then you will spend eternity in Hell. And when I say ‘a few more years,’ I mean no more than a little over three. You may not even survive that long, and then it will be separation from God forever.” Andrew bit his lower lip. “You will have sold your soul to the devil, never to get it back, and you will spend eternity paying for it. Officer Whitman is already beyond all hope—he will go to Hell when he dies. He sold his soul when he had the chip injected into his forehead. I don’t want you to share his fate, and neither does God. God does not want you to sell your soul, and neither do I.” He tightened his grasp on Dylan’s shoulder. “Dylan, I urge you not to give in!” 

Dylan shoved Andrew’s hand off his shoulder. “Who do you think you are?” he hissed. 

Dropping his hand to his side, Andrew silently prayed. He could only hope that God would soften this man’s heart. If Dylan remained obstinate, he would be eternally condemned just as Officer Whitman was. Andrew couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. 

“I am an angel. Sent by God.” Heavenly light poured off Andrew. Dylan gaped at him in shock. 

“Yes, Dylan, I’m an angel—sent by the true God who _is_ worthy of your worship.” His voice softened. He inserted his hands into his pants pockets. “The God who loves you so much! And who loves Aileen and her baby, too. The God who so yearns to give you life eternal in a beautiful world that will never end.” He paused. “Everything good and pleasant and worthy comes from Him, Dylan, because He’s the author of it all and the Creator of this world. Satan does not love you—he hates you. God loves you. Everything He does for you, and everything He requires of you, comes out of His love.” 

A troubled expression etched Dylan’s face. His shoulders sagged. “What—what does God want me to do?” His voice choked. Lowering his head, he gazed down at the flattened tufts of carpet beneath his sturdy leather shoes. 

“Give your life to His Son. Ask Him to save your soul, to live in your heart. To forgive your sin.” As Dylan raised his head, Andrew smiled. “He will do the rest.” His voice grew serious. “And whatever you do, _never_ accept that implant! Trust God to provide for you instead—He will.” 

Dylan bowed his head. “Jesus, I ask you to save me. To live in me.” He took a deep breath. “To forgive me for everything I’ve done wrong. Including trying to force Aileen to worship Antonio Puccini.” He swallowed hard. “Amen.” 

He raised his head, beaming. Before he could speak, a deafening gunshot startled both; a bullet ricocheted against the wall next to Dylan’s head, then embedded in the surface of a gleaming mahogany coffee table. Andrew whirled to find Officer Whitman framing the hallway entrance, fury etched on his face. 

“Traitor!” Jesse shouted, darting into the room, revolver pointed at Dylan. “You will die for this! Right now!” 

Face beet-red, Dylan rushed at Jesse and pushed the officer’s hand over his head, forcing the revolver to point upward. A second later, as agony etched Dylan’s face, he dropped his left arm to his side, then bent his elbow backward. Shoving him back, Jesse lowered the gun toward him and pulled the trigger. As the deafening report hurt Andrew’s ears, blood oozed out of Dylan’s chest.


	8. Chapter 7

Leaning against the plastered wall and clutching his chest, Dylan pressed his lips into a tight line as he glared at Jesse. He glanced around; Andrew had disappeared. Intense pain filled his chest and his left shoulder. 

“You will not win, Jesse,” he said. “God will win this war—not your master Satan.” 

“No, He won’t. My master will win!” roared Jesse. “Meanwhile, you are going to die, and your new baby along with you! I am going to shoot that baby just as soon as it’s born!” He pressed the revolver against Dylan’s temple. “Then I’m going to force your girlfriend to accept that implant myself.” 

Dylan bared his teeth. “You really think Aileen’s going to agree to take the implant if you kill our child? You may as well just go right ahead and kill her as well. Trust me, she _won’t_ want to go on living if the baby dies.” He swallowed. “Especially since she’s going to lose me as well.” 

Silently, he prayed to God to help them. He knew he was going to die shortly. He could only be grateful that he was on the right side at last—on God’s side. He shuddered inwardly, as he pondered what would have happened had God not used Andrew to get his attention. _Please, God, help Aileen and save her baby!_ he silently prayed. 

His shoulder throbbed anew, making him bite his lower lip. _My stupid shoulder picked the worst possible moment to act up!_ He shook his head. _If that hadn't happened, I might have been able to get the gun away from Jesse._

Andrew stepped into the room, the unearthly light gone from his body. The lamplight caused a shadow to spread across the carpet from him to a nearby armchair. Shaking his head at the sight, the angel of death turned his disapproving gaze to the policeman. 

“Officer Whitman, God is going to protect Aileen Adamson. You will not win, for you are on the losing side.” 

Jesse snorted, then smirked. “I don’t think so. Puccini is god, and he will win. And everyone who won’t worship him will die!” He slipped his revolver back into the holster. “Including you!” He smirked at the angel. 

Before Andrew could respond, Monica rushed into the room, her shoes making soft thuds in the carpet. “Dylan, Aileen is about to give birth. Gloria sent me to bring you.” She stopped short as she gaped at Dylan’s chest. “Oh, Dylan…!” 

“It’s all right. I’ll help you upstairs,” Andrew told the dying man. “You’ll have a chance to see your baby first.” He pulled the sling out of Dylan’s pants pocket. “First, though, let’s get your left arm into this. I’ll give you a handkerchief to staunch the blood while we’re upstairs.” 

As he spoke, Andrew yanked the wadded sling out of the pocket, draped it around Dylan’s neck, then gently assisted his arm into it. “There, that’ll ease the pain some,” he told the dying man. Biting his lower lip, Dylan nodded his thanks. 

Putting his arm around Dylan’s waist, Andrew helped him down the hall and up the stairs. He pulled a large handkerchief out of his pants pocket and handed it to Dylan, who in turn held it against his bloodied chest with his right hand. Officer Whitman followed, hand on his revolver. 

Meanwhile, as Aileen fidgeted on the soft, rumpled bedspread, trying valiantly to take her mind off the agony, she attempted to fix her mind on the good times she and Dylan had once enjoyed. All that kept coming to her mind’s eye, though, was that awful day when he had given her that ultimatum—accept the implant or else! 

Aileen remembered that awful day… 

_“I want you to know, Aileen, that I’m still willing to marry you. I haven’t reneged on that.” Dylan smiled. “But there is one thing we must do first. Together. If you will agree to this one thing, I will marry you tomorrow.”_

_Aileen leaned forward, shifting her weight on the sofa. An uneasy sensation welled up in her gut. “What?”_

_Dylan paused. A troubled expression flitted across his face. “Tomorrow, I want you to go with me to turn in your debit card and receive that chip Puccini is offering.” He swallowed. “And then worship his statue. I will be doing the same.”_

_Aileen froze, then drew back. “No!” she gasped…_

“Aileen?” Gloria’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You’re crowning now—I can see the head. I want you to push now. As hard as you can!” Taking a deep breath, Aileen scrooged her eyes shut. 

The door swung open; Andrew helped Dylan enter the room. “I’m—here, Aileen,” Dylan told her, clutching a bloodied handkerchief against his chest. “Don’t try to talk—just do what—the doctor says!” 

“You stay in the hall!” Tess ordered the policeman. Meekly, Officer Whitman backed away from the entrance. 

Face red and sweaty, not looking in Dylan’s direction, Aileen gasped in pain as she pushed, eyes squeezed shut. A moment later, a red-faced, squalling baby slid onto the bed. Gloria cleaned it, then dropped some antiseptic into its eyes. “To protect her sight,” she explained to Aileen and Dylan. “It’s a girl!” She smiled broadly. 

She handed the baby to Aileen, who cradled her against her breast. “Dylan. Look!” A contented smile spread across Aileen’s face as she gazed at her new baby. “We have a daughter.” Raising her head to look at Dylan for the first time, she stared in horror at his chest. “Oh, Dylan! What happened? Did that policeman—shoot you?” 

“Yes.” Dylan sighed as, with Andrew’s help, he bent over. An unnatural pallor had spread over his face; his skin looked clammy. “And I’m afraid that—I—I’m not going to live—to be her father, Aileen. I’m dying. I can’t even—marry you now.” Aileen bit her lower lip, tears welling in her eyes.


	9. Chapter 8

“Yes, you can.” Monica touched his arm. “With God, all things are possible. He is sending another angel to perform your wedding before you die.” 

Dylan smiled his thanks. “At least—my child—will bear my—last name.” He raised his face to the ceiling. “Thank You, God! At least I—will be in—Heaven.” He looked down at Aileen. “I’ve become a—believer, Aileen. Andrew—talked some sense—into me.” Andrew chuckled. 

Still gaping in horror at her boyfriend, Aileen tugged at Gloria’s sleeve. “Please, can’t you remove the bullet from his chest?” she pleaded. “He’s been shot!” 

Dylan raised his hand. “It’s—too late—for that—honey,” he told her. “I’ll just have—to wait for you—in Heaven. Don’t worry—I’ll come back—when Jesus does. Do you—know Him, too?” 

Monica nodded. “Yes, she does,” she told him. “What do you want to name your daughter?” 

Dylan and Aileen gazed at each other for a long moment. The baby’s crying subsided as they did so. “How about Jessica?” Aileen suggested. “That was my mother’s name.” 

Dylan smiled. “That will—be fine.” He blew a kiss toward the baby, now attempting to stuff her fist into her mouth. “Hello, Jessica! Welcome to—the world.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s not—much of a world—right now, sweetheart. But it’ll—get better in a—a few years. I promise you.” He rested his hand on her silky-soft head. 

As Andrew supported him, to keep him from falling onto his girlfriend, Dylan bent over to kiss Jessica’s scalp. Despite the intense pain in his chest and his shoulder, a sensation of joy erupted in his heart. What a precious baby girl! How sweet! As he gazed down at the newborn cradled in Aileen’s arms, love flooded his soul. If only he could be here to help raise her and take care of Aileen! 

_It’s my own fault I can’t be with them,_ he thought, ruefully. _If I hadn’t enlisted Officer Whitman’s help in finding Aileen, I wouldn’t be dying now._

Another angel appeared in the room, holding a Bible against his chest. He had the same ebony-colored skin as Tess; an unearthly light poured off him. “My name is Sam,” he told Dylan and Aileen. “God has sent me to marry you two, since there is no time for you to find a preacher. Dylan, God is giving you a special dispensation so you can go through with the ceremony.” 

Nodding, Dylan straightened his back and stood next to the bed. He took Aileen’s right hand in his own. Sam performed the wedding ceremony; as soon as Dylan and Aileen had each said, “I do,” they kissed. 

“I love you, Aileen, and I owe you an apology,” Dylan said. He pressed his hand against his chest as he spoke. “I’m so sorry I tried to force you to take that implant. That was wrong.” His voice choked. “I tried to force you to sell your soul to the devil, and that was so wrong! I was going to sell mine, too, while I was at it. As—as Officer Whitman did.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Honey, I—I’m at peace with God now, and I’m ready to go.” 

Aileen beamed, even as tears rolled down her face. “I am, too, Dylan. I will be sad that you’re gone, but I’m so glad you’re going to be in Heaven.” 

Dylan squeezed her hand, then rested his own on the baby’s soft head. “She’s a darling.” He smiled down at Jessica, then turned toward his new wife. “It won’t be long, honey. In three years or less, we’ll be together again. When Jesus comes back, or if you join me first.” 

Aileen nodded. “Yes. We will.” She glanced at Monica, who nodded agreement. 

Clutching the handkerchief against his chest again, Dylan, once more looking clammy and pale and feeling faint, glanced at Andrew. A wave of dizziness swept over him, forcing him to lean against the bedpost in an effort to keep his balance. “You—you’re the—angel of death?” 

Andrew nodded. “Yes. I am.” He smiled. “It will be my privilege to escort you to Heaven, Dylan.” 

A light beige suit miraculously replaced his brown T-shirt and dark-brown pants; the same Heavenly light now poured off him. He drew his pocket watch out of his pants pocket, opened it, and glanced at the time. Its glass face shone in the harsh overhead light. Without a word, he closed the lid and slid the watch back into his pocket, fixing his gaze on Dylan. 

Dylan nodded, then looked at Aileen. “Good-bye—honey.” Before Aileen could respond, her new husband slumped to the floor. 

Tess knelt to feel his pulse. “He is dead,” she said, rising to her feet. Clutching her baby to her chest, Aileen wept. 

Unknown to Aileen, Dylan’s soul stood next to Andrew, gaping at the officer who had just entered the room, standing behind Tess and preparing his revolver. “Will you stop Officer Whitman?” he asked. “He wants to kill the baby.” 

Nodding, Andrew, who was still visible to Aileen and Jesse, turned toward the policeman as he aimed his revolver at baby Jessica. Aileen protectively curled both arms around the baby, horror etched on her face. “No! No!” she screamed. “Don’t kill my baby!” 

“Jesse Whitman! Put that gun down!” the angel of death ordered. The Heavenly light pouring off his body grew brighter. Jesse gaped at him, taking a step back. Sam stood next to him, holding the Bible against his chest, the same unearthly light pouring off him with the same intensity. 

“Leave this house now, or face immediate death!” Sam ordered, pointing at the doorway behind the policeman. Too frightened to speak, Jesse rushed out the bedroom door and down the hall, then took the stairs two at a time. A few minutes later, he rushed out the front door and disappeared into the night. 

Sam turned to face Aileen. “You will need to read this,” he told her. “This Bible is yours.” He set the Bible on the nightstand next to her bed. 

As Aileen smiled her thanks, Sam vanished, and Tess exchanged a beaming smile with Andrew, Monica, and Gloria. “He won’t be coming back,” Monica assured Aileen. “You and your baby are safe.” She propped her fingers together in front of her waist. 

“That’s right. And just as soon as you’ve recovered from Jessica’s birth, we will find you a safe place to stay,” Tess said, comfortingly. “You will be in good hands. Both of you.” She rested her hand on Jessica’s head. 

“For—for how long?” Aileen’s lower lip trembled. 

“Until Jesus comes back, to start His new kingdom,” Monica told her. “Until then, He will keep you and Jessica safe. Neither of you will die before He comes back. The Father has given us that message for you.” 

“That’s right. And Dylan’s soul is also safe,” Andrew said. Disappearing from Aileen’s sight, he pivoted to face Dylan. “Are you ready?” 

Grinning, Dylan nodded. He and Andrew exited the bedroom, disappearing into a Heavenly blaze of light.


	10. Epilogue

Five days later, the angels drove Aileen and Jessica to a wooded area close to the Tennessee state line. The gleaming red Cadillac’s white top sheltered them from the blazing June sun. Fluffy wisps of clouds drifted overhead. 

Inside the back of the car, the air-conditioner hummed; its air felt good on Aileen’s skin. Cradling the baby, she smiled. A suitcase stood on its side at her feet. The angels had outfitted her and Jessica with clothes before leaving the house. Unknown to Aileen, the house and the fence had since vanished, their purpose now complete. 

As the convertible pulled to a stop, Aileen stuck her head out the window. “I don’t see any shelter here.” 

“That’s because it’s underground. It’s walled in thick concrete so that earthquakes won’t demolish it.” Andrew climbed out of the front passenger seat and opened the door for Aileen. “There’s a door resembling a manhole inside that thicket up ahead. Watch your step—the thicket is low on this side, but dense.” 

Aileen stepped out, clutching the baby against her chest. Andrew picked up the suitcase and carried it around the back of the car, joining Aileen and Jessica. Tess, Monica, and Gloria also climbed out. 

Silently, Tess led the way into the thicket. As Andrew, while carrying the suitcase with one hand, assisted Aileen into the thicket with the other, the new mother stopped to pull her pants legs loose from a branch. She held Jessica against her chest, careful not to drop her. 

Tess paused to wait for Aileen to free her pants leg. She was eager to get the young woman to shelter, now that she had recovered from Jessica’s birth. She wanted mother and child to be as safe as the ravages of the Tribulation would allow them to be. A smooth metal manhole cover lay in the ground at Tess’ feet. 

“Mr. Midgeway!” the supervisor angel shouted. “It’s Tess.” 

The cover swung upward; a blond head rose above the hole. “Tess!” the man greeted her. “Come on down, you and your friends.” 

“Thank you, Brad.” Tess turned to Aileen. “We helped Brad and his friends find this shelter a few months ago,” she explained. “When they were running from the law. It’s made of good sturdy material, built to withstand earthquakes. But there will be plenty of angelic protection, too, when the need arises, because some of the coming earthquakes will be stronger than even this shelter would otherwise be able to endure.” 

“They came here to avoid taking the implant?” Aileen asked. Tess nodded. 

One by one, Tess, the other angels, and Aileen climbed down the steel ladder, Andrew waiting till last. Setting the suitcase on the ground, Andrew held Jessica until the others had descended the ladder into the shelter; he then crouched to hand Jessica down to Aileen before climbing down the ladder himself. Candles lay in a pile in one corner of the room; sleeping mats lay piled in another. An overhead light bulb shed a soft glow throughout, Aileen noticed. 

A group of men and women gathered around them, shoes softly clumping on the stone floor. “You remember Tess—she led us to this shelter, remember?” the blond man said. “She and these other angels.” The others smiled and greeted their visitors. 

Tess craned her head to look at Aileen. Stepping backward, she laid a hand on Aileen’s arm. “Brad, this young woman and her baby need a safe place to stay,” Tess told the assembled group. “Her husband was killed just a few short days ago.” She paused. “Will you take them in and look after them?” 

Brad furrowed his eyebrows. Sighing, he shook his head. “I hate to say no, Tess, but we’re not equipped to take care of a baby.” Aileen’s face fell; biting her lower lip, she gazed down past her baby at the smooth stone tiles at her feet. “We have no formula, no diapers—” 

Andrew raised his hand. “Brad, God would not ask you to take these two in if He wasn’t going to provide. Just as He provided you with food and other supplies when He brought you here—supplies that will last until Jesus returns—He will provide baby Jessica with what she needs, as well.” He smiled. “You will have the necessary supplies this very day, and for as long as they’re needed.” 

He inserted his right hand into his pants pocket; his left hand gripped the suitcase handles. Nodding agreement, Gloria pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

Monica raised her head toward the low ceiling, then nodded. Evidently, she had received some instructions from the Father. Without a word, she circled the group toward the back door, disappearing into a supply room. A moment later, she returned with a plastic diaper bag hanging on her elbow. 

“You will find the other supplies in the back room,” she told Brad. She turned to Aileen, holding out to her the diaper bag. “Jessica will need a diaper change very soon.” 

Aileen patted the back of Jessica’s diaper, then smiled ruefully. “I think she needs it now.” Monica and Tess laughed. Aileen took the diaper bag, its smooth plastic handle dangling from her fingers. 

Chuckling, Brad exchanged glances with the others, then laughed again. “Well, since God has provided, I see no reason to say no.” The others nodded agreement. 

Aileen smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” she told him, then scanned the assembled believers. “All of you.” 

A woman stepped forward. “We will help you care for your baby for as long as you need us to.” Aileen nodded. 

Setting Aileen’s suitcase on the floor, Andrew pulled out his pocket watch, glanced at it, then shoved it back into his pants pocket. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he told Tess, who inclined her head. He disappeared. 

Tess turned to Monica and Gloria. “We have work to do, as well. The Father has another assignment for us.” She hugged Aileen, then rubbed her hand over Jessica’s head. Looking Aileen in the eyes, she added, “Never forget, baby, that God loves you. Never doubt that again. The demons have no power over you now. They’ve lost the war for your soul.” 

Aileen beamed. “They sure have. Thanks to you. And to God.” Laying Jessica on a nearby pine table, she proceeded to change the baby’s diaper. 

The angels disappeared. Above the manhole cover, a dove cooed softly as it flew overhead.  
  
  
  


**THE END**

**©2005 by KathyG**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to learn more about the end times and what lies ahead for the Body of Christ and for the world, go to this link: http://zorrothefox2000.webs.com/mywebsites/christianwebsites.html. On it, you will find an extensive list of links to Christian Web sites, many of which refer to end-times prophecy.
> 
> If you'd like to read my testimony, go to this link: http://zorrothefox2000.webs.com/mywebsites/mytestimony.html.


End file.
